


Discipline

by DennisCrumb



Category: Glass (2019), Split (2016)
Genre: Age Difference, Coercion, Consent Issues, Creepy, Dennis is not trying to be good, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Groping, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Incest, Improvised Sex Toys, In a way, Past Child Abuse, Self-Harm, Stripping, retraumatization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-10-31 03:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17841362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DennisCrumb/pseuds/DennisCrumb
Summary: Casey's art class goes on a field trip at the Philadelphia Zoo to participate in the overnight program.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zapples](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zapples/gifts).



> Inspired by Hedwigs-Window's amazing idea on Tumblr: https://hedwigs-window.tumblr.com/post/182647551298/this-might-be-an-unpopular-take-but-dennis-hates

Casey looks over the grassy field where the eleven other art students in her advanced class are setting up tents, some more successful than others.

A last call informing zoo attendees the park is closing booms over the speakers. A sense of giddiness warms Casey despite the windy Autumn season, cool air pinching her rosy cheeks.

Her class has been planning and saving up for this field trip all year. A chance to have the park all to themselves (a total of twelve students and one teacher) and stay overnight under the stars. So here they are on a Friday evening about to have a very exciting weekend.

"Casey, over here!" Marcia calls out a little ways afar from the other students. Her best friend Claire is standing beside her under the shade of a giant maple tree, its yellow leaves and bleeding orange tips mirroring the sky.

Everyone has been assigned in groups of three, making the seniors semi-responsible to not let their peers burn the place down. Their teacher, Mrs. Murphy, was already running to and fro making sure her students and schedule were on track. Casey's saddled with Claire and Marcia. The two girls often take pity on the school's outcast during group assignments and throwaway invites to social events and parties. Casey herself doesn't mind if it gets her out of the house for a few hours, her uncle John won't let her go out without solid proof of where she's going, lest she runs away again 

Casey drops her ruckpack and sleeping bag next to their belongings. She stares down the half done red dome tent in front of them, its structure pathetic and limp. 

Marcia grimaces. "Yeah...we tried?"

Claire snorts, nudging one of the tent poles with her high heel shoes. "Told you we should've waited for one of the staff members to come and do it."

"It's cool," Casey says, bending down to snap the flimsy center pole straight.

She thinks she stills remembers what her dad has taught her all those years ago. A memory of her five year old self dutifully taking mental notes brings more melancholy than comfort. Sometimes memories of her dead father do more harm than good, her Uncle John lurks in the background of a lot of them.

The class stays about an hour in the field. They eat lunch, Mrs. Murphy gives them a speech about being on their best behavior and respecting the park along with its staff, then they gather their art supplies and head out.

In all of her eighteen years Casey has never been to the zoo, although she'd seen plenty of wildlife throughout her childhood. Behind the scope of her father's rifle to binoculars on weekend backyard hikes. The park was still an inspiring sight to an artist's mind. She'd refused to come here the one time her Uncle John mentioned it for her thirteenth birthday, she was so impassioned in her refusal he'd never brought it up to again, and now she's thankful for it. Casey has put off seeing a lot of things over the years, just so the experience wouldn't be tainted nor drudge up old memories with his presence and wandering hands.

It's work before fun and Mrs. Murphy has a few attractions in particular she wants the class to focus on, giving them a wide variety of color and texture and size to work with. They visit the Primate Reserve, the Reptile and Amphibian House, the African Plains, and end at Penguin Point.

Casey's finishing up her pencil color sketch on a group of swimming Humboldt penguins when Mrs Murphy calls for everyone's attention. Beyond the gate, she watches one of the penguins take a swift dive from the rocks into the shimmery emerald water before closing her sketchpad.

It's nearly half past eight now, the zoo is bathed in a soft yellow mist and not a sound from city life can be heard with how deep in the park they were.

"I'm about to let you all loose for the rest of the night," Mrs. Murphy announces. The class cheers and claps until she gestures for them all to be silent. "I'm going to let Stacy take over now and explain all the options available to you," she glances at the short and blonde zoo staff member who grins and waves.

Stacy steps forward while eight other staff members stand around her. "As your teacher Mrs. Murphy just explained you guys are free to visit any attraction until ten, at that time we'll all meet back at the Primate Preserve, or you can come up to any one of the staff and they'll guide you– okay?"

Stacy goes on to say they have other options such as watching a movie in the Aviation Center, chat with the animal keepers, or take a hike.

"Hiking in these shoes?" Claire mutters to Marcia. "Not a chance."

Marcia smirks in agreement. "Want to just walk around?" She asks them.

They've been trying to include Casey in their conversations all day, mainly Marcia who mostly goes along with whatever her louder more opinionated friend says. It was annoying, although she enjoys the vague comfort other's presence brings her, their persistence in trying to include her was unwanted. But Casey knows she can't go off alone or they'd all get in trouble.

"Sure." She shrugs. Some of the animals haven't been taken in by their keepers yet and Casey was interested in seeing the big cats.

The silence is almost eerie in comparison to the hectic energy and commotion just a few hours ago. Their other class members and teacher have scattered elsewhere, leaving the three girls alone on a route they haven't visited, as if they've been dropped into some tiny unknown village.

Casey strolls a little ahead of Claire and Marcia whilst they giggle over some guy's Instagram photos. She's left her own phone back in her ruck pack so she doesn't have to see her uncle's name flash across the screen. Instead, whenever they stop (which is often) she takes the time to add more drawings to her collection, huddling under a street lamp for light.

Getting lost in her art helps to ignore the lone man whose been on their trail for half an hour.

Claire and Marcia are leaning over the rail staring at an empty giant maze, bemoaning their chance at not seeing the meerkats scurrying through the tubes. Casey's sitting on the ground a couple feet away, stealing glimpses at the man as she goes over the details of his clothing. He's wearing a green long-sleeved sweater with 'Zoo Staff' embroidered on its breast, the collar's zipped up all the way with a plaid shirt peeking underneath, and khaki pants. 

He looks over at them, again, as he rakes dead leaves up and carefully dumps them in a large rolling trash bin. The man doesn't seem too concerned at being caught staring which only unnerves Casey more. 

She diverts her eyes back to her sketch whenever he looks up. His attention goes to Claire and Marcia whenever they cut through the quiet with their laughs, and then back at Casey which doubles her heartbeat every time. Still, she intends on finishing her drawing of him, something dark and aching within pulling her to do so. 

Nibbling on her bottom lip, she attempts to capture the myriad of feelings hidden behind his glasses. What she can discern is that none of his expressions hold anything vague, or of comfort. She's seen those heated glances directed at her far too often in her uncle's eyes, those are the nights she puts a chair to her door or sneak out.

The man had looked a similar way earlier, too, when Stacy was giving her speech. Casey hadn't been paying much attention then, in fact, she'd been focusing intently on _not_ looking his way. Now she was certain there was something worrying about him, she can feel it with the same rush of terror as all the dangers she's felt before in her chest.

" _Stop_ ," Marcia whines between peals of laughter. 

Casey startles and her pencil drops on the sketchpad before rolling down onto the ground. She turns towards them, heart pounding.

"He totally is!" Claire shrieks, throwing her head back and laughing, her fingers clutching her best friend's jean jacket as if she's about to fall over.

Marcia looks over her shoulder, opened mouth turned up at the corners, looking completely scandalized. She whips her head forward again, dark wavy hair flying about. " _Shush_! He'll hear you!"

Claire's laughter dies down and she releases Martha to wrap an arm around her stomach, the other swiping an index finger under her eyelid. "I'm telling you," she continues with a shake of her head. "He's totally checking your ass out like some virgin perv, and whenever we passed him by earlier he was staring at my boobs. You should go talk to him." She's clearly teasing, knocking her shoulder into Marcia's.

"Ew. Please, no." Marcia squeezes her eyes shut and her face scrunches up. Her entire demeanor screams repulsed at the thought. She shudders. "He's like, _old_ , and stuff." She snorts which sets Claire off into uncontrollable cackling again. Marcia joins in.

"Yeah, but he does look  _really_ jacked under that uniform." Claire says once she's calmed down. She looks back at him, brow raising in approval. "Maybe your new boy toy can give us a special tour?" Claire smiles suggestively at Marcia, wriggling and gyrating around for the man's obvious benefit.

Casey grinds her teeth, brows knitting in annoyance at their antics. She stares down the image she's conjured of the man. His dark face is turned towards them, hands clenched around the rake's handle, body stiff and upright. _Old._ The guy looks to be in his late twenties – early thirties at the most.

Their being so loud and obvious will surely provoke him, if just their bodies alone won't. Who would be around to see or hear but the birds? Can they scream louder than the wind and trees? It's clear they have no idea how fast they can be overpowered, snatched up, and dragged behind the many nooks and crannies the night offers. Even if one or two of them manages to get away and stumble for help the damage will be done. They have no idea–

Sighing shakily, she cuts those dark fantasies off before her memories assault her, ones fresh as last month. Picking up her pencil, she shoves it in the pad's pocket cover and snaps her sketchpad shut. She shoves off the ground, sending a wary look to the man. Neither girl pays her any attention and the man meets her gaze, both holding it longer than was appropriate. It makes her heart race and knees weak.

"I'm never going to hear the end of this with you, am I?" Marcia groans. "Besides, what can he do? He's cleaning the park."

Claire groans. "Ex- _actly_. He's like a glorified janitor, a.k.a. he has access _everywhere_. Do you not see those huge ass keys he has on his belt?"

"Nope," Marcia sing-songs, gripping the rail and leaning back, swaying back and forth. "I was looking elsewhere," she drops her voice conspiratorially.

Grinning, Claire throws her hands in the air. "Okay, then! He's literally right over there! Here's your chance to ask him if he can take us behind the scenes, and get up and close with those adorable teeny tiny meerkats?" Claire prompts, clasping her hands under her chin and sticking her bottom lip out.

"You think he would?" Marcia sounds interested now but still skeptical. Both girls glance back simultaneously. "I doubt he would."

"C'mon. It's a sign. We've ran into him, like, six times already walking around this ridiculously forty something acre park. He's interested and waiting for us to make the first move."

Marcia ducks her head, smiling through her embarrassment. She plays nervously with her teardrop necklace. "I dunno..."

Having stood by listening to their insanity long enough, Casey ambles over beside Marcia, folding her arms around the railing to rest her head.

"It can't hurt to ask. If anything, we'll get a good laugh at confronting him for ogling us like he is." Claire persists, face brightening when she notices Casey. "What do you think?"

Casey thinks it's a terrible idea. The fact that they've seen him as often as they have and his brazen obviousness tells her this. "It's...whatever," Casey mumbles, feigning disinterest, why, she doesn't know. They should be leaving to meet up with someone is what needs to be said, but that can lead to questions, ones she doesn't want her uncle to be told tomorrow morning.

Marcia sighs heavily, eyes rolling skyward in several seconds of contemplation. "Okay," she decides, looking at them. "I'll do it. But you guys have to come with me!"

Casey scoffs. "Pass."

Frowning, Marcia leans down to meet her defiant gaze. "Aw, why not? It'll be fun!"

"For who?" 

Folding her arms, Claire sighs in annoyance. "Don't be so boring. You know, you've _barely_ even said five words to us, you can at least do this. I say we just waltz over there and ask him–"

"Ask me what?"

The three girls whip around, Claire and Marcia gasping noisily.

Casey presses her back against the rail, heart thundering but silent and alert. She hadn't sensed him behind her – it was normally a useful niggling sensation down her spine whenever someone gets too close – and that scares her even more.

The urge to hightail it out of there is strong when his dark eyes look her up and down, flickering over each of them, appraising. No one's ever looked at her like that– it makes her breathless. She can't decide whether that's bad or good.

How much has he heard?

The man raises his arms impatiently as if to say, _well?_

" _Well..."_  Claire begins in a high, unsteady voice. She winds an arm around Marcia's waist as if for confidence, resting her head on her best friend's shoulder. "We were just talking about  _all_  of the cool attractions we've missed out on tonight." She looks up at Marcia who nods encouragingly before Claire continues. "See, we have to do some sketches for our class before seven and we've _kind of_ been neglecting them?"

"And a lot of the smaller, cuter animals have already been put up for the night that we really wanted to see," Marcia adds, bringing home their desire.

His impassive expression doesn't change throughout Claire's speech. He folds his arms, eyes narrowing. "You want me to show you around the restricted areas, that it?" He says slow and flat.

"It would be so awesome," Claire gushes before laying it on thick. "Like, we'd be extremely grateful to you if you helped us out here. I, for one, would love to see some meerkats up close. It would be the highlight of our year– hands down."

"Yeah," Marcia pipes up, smiling. "Definitely."

Casey opts to remain silent, hovering on the edges. Nervous, she looks down the dark, desolate route they came from, feeling more alone than ever. 

Dennis looks between the three girls for a long moment, tongue prodding his bottom. He brings a hand up to rub over his closely shaven head and looks down the same path Casey's done.

"I'll do you one better," he finally says. "Seeing as how the trainers and workers are in and out right now in the places you want to get to...I'll show you three around tonight, after lights out."

They hesitate, having not expected that. Sneaking out would get them in huge trouble if found out. Suspension level repercussions. The man begins shuffling on the spot, tongue working inside his mouth impatiently and dark blue eyes shifting. Casey realizes she isn't the only one nervous.

"That sounds fantastic!" Claire exclaims. "Um...but could you give us a second? Make sure everyone is onboard."

Nodding, Dennis glimpses at Casey which sends that niggling pressure in her chest off again. He backs off. "Sure."

Claire turns on them, eyes shining with excitement. "We should get an extra private tour tonight. Yeah? I mean...how cool would that be!"

No longer caught in the moment, Marcia's unease starts up, shuffling her feet. Casey knows she still won't say no to her best friend, not when she's so amped up.

"It does sounds like a fun opportunity, getting to sneak around a zoo. How many people can say they've done that," Marcia says.

"What if he wants something in return?" Casey points out, knowing he undoubtedly will want a form of thanks they won't be eager to pay. He could lose his job over this, his price will be steep.

"You mean sexual?" Marcia says, eyes widening. "You think he'll ask us to flash our boobs or something?"

"We've been there, done that," Claire says to her with confidence, rolling her eyes.

Marcia clasps a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle before letting it fall back to her side. "Alright. Why the hell not?"

"I am not doing that," Casey firmly tells them, lips pursing.

Claire smiles tightly. "Then you don't have to." She places a hand on her hip, tilts her chin up. "But you still have to come. I am not going to get chewed out because _you're_ having second thoughts."

"But, what if–"

"There are cameras, _Casey_ , okay? Whatever's going on in that head of yours is not gonna happen." Claire looks up at the one above them now, prompting both girls to do the same. "I mean, seriously, I know it's against your m.o. but maybe chill for once."

"Claire isn't wrong," Marcia gently agrees. "Besides, he seems so...awkward. A quick boob flash will probably be the most action he's ever seen in his entire life."

Casey glares down at the ground. "This is so stupid. It's not worth my time."

"You don't have to flash the guy if you don't want to," Marcia quickly adds. "Me and Claire will just do it. But you should come. You'll like it."

Sighing, Casey looks up at Dennis whose gone back to raking. The energy radiating off this guy was smothering, makes her feel hot and anxious, mouth dry. The feeling was overwhelming. She was sick with it.

" _Live_ a little," Claire pushes, frustration seeping through. "Don't pretend like you're some goody-two shoes now!"

"Claire," Marcia sharply whispers.

"What?" Claire shoots back, arching a brow.

Dennis locks eyes with Casey, as if he knows she's the only one who hasn't decided yet. Her features harden and she huffs noisily, flushing. "Fine."

"Cool?" Claire asks, laughing shortly in disbelief.

In fairness, Casey can't believe she'd said yes either. But Claire and Marcia clearly have no idea what they're getting into, and snitching was only going to bar her from the entire class by taking away such an opportunity from the popular girls. It was going to end horribly no matter what she chooses, she may as well fall into the grave more familiar.

"Fine...screw it. I'll come."

Claire bounces on her feet and claps, sharing an exuberant squeal with Marcia before shifting back into casual mode. She clears her throat and smooths down her white sweater, fighting the grin on her face. "Okay, cool. Thank you!"

They head over to tell the man the news and go over how and when he'll come to get them later.

"We haven't gotten your name yet," Casey mentions after he asks for theirs.

"Dennis." 

Casey nods, planning on adding his name in her sketchbook right next to the drawing. When they part ways she refuses to show as Claire and Marcia do how excited she is for tonight, and like a lot of things today she can't decide whether it's good or bad.


	2. Chapter 2

Casey wakes to Marcia leaning over her, she's changed out of her sleepwear, and Claire is no longer in the tent.

"We're getting into our clothes for tomorrow," Marcia whispers. "You should too. If you want."

Casey pushes herself up on her elbows and looks Marcia over, her choice of style – a half cropped sweater and skirt – was less modest than the school clothes they came in. It's not like Mrs. Murphy can yell at them about dress code come several hours from now when they all part ways.

Casey gets up and grabs her sketchbook and phone, there was no need for her to change but she supposes Marcia and Claire would've looked ridiculous walking around in sleepwear and pumps. Casey's wearing a pair of red and black plaid pajamas, her under shirts, and a well worn oversized tee with one of her favorite art pieces on it: Witches in the Air. Her former art teacher had bought it for her on a field trip to the museum, a few months later he will have transferred elsewhere after getting caught having sex with a sophomore in class.

She pulls on a green sweater she'd bought earlier– the words Philadelphia Zoo are in yellow print encircled around a giant tiger's head in the center. She wears her jacket over that. As she tugs on her boots outside she runs through her mind how stupid this was for the hundredth time, even as a flush of exhilaration warms her cheeks.

They huddle by the gate when it's time. There's a sound of faint shuffling and jingling and Dennis comes into view beyond the iron bars wearing a dark blue jacket and button down. The gate squeaks open and the girls turn back to the scattered tents on the grass, no light or movement in sight.

Clare slips out first, then Marcia, and Casey.

Dennis shuts the gate and locks it back, a yellow cloth pressed against the metal and his hand as a barrier. They wave at him, half nervous, half excited. He nods and they follow him down the twisting concrete path, reaching the second gate which he locks behind them.

They follow after him past the gift shacks and rest stops and snack shops, footsteps gaining more confidence the further away they get from Mrs. Murphy and their classmates.

He takes them to see the meerkats first, as promised, unlocking the building door to the Small Mammal House. Claire and Marcia share an excited grin. The lights are already on down the long hall, paintings of animals on the brick wall.

It's not just meerkats, but aardvarks and sloths and pygmy marmosets, all nestled in their display boxes embedded in the wall.

"They're asleep." Marcia frowns, disappointed.

"We need to head to the nocturnal wing. It's further down." Dennis turns into a pitch black corridor and they trail after him.

Casey starts to freak out a little, walking blindly down the dark hall until a soft, warm glow from the display cases beam down on the ground much like the moonlight outside. Claire and Marcia press their faces close up to the playful little creatures, making cooing noises and softly tapping the glass.

Casey leans against the wall, hands stuffed in pockets and ankles crossed. It's not that she isn't interested, she just feels as if looking at even one of these animals would make her owe him something. So she hangs back, a silent spectator.

Claire and Marcia take several blinding selfies and talk animatedly, forgetting the other two in the room exist, as best friends tend to do. Dennis stands a little away from them all, watching and waiting. He doesn't say much to them, nothing trivial especially. There's no need to win them over with winning conversation, they are here of their own free will; even Casey.

Her eyes keep meeting his in the poor lighting, no matter how discreet the other tries to be. She feels the weight of his gaze on her each time, her heart painfully skipping a beat with each pointed look. No doubt trying to figure out why she's here and so removed from it all, while she's casing him out to determine how this night will end.  

Claire goes up to him and grabs his wrist. "Dennis, take a picture with us!" She grins teasingly, backpedaling to stand beside Marcia, setting him between them.

Dennis pulls his hand from her grip and folds his arms, a tight and nervous smile on his face, his entire demeanor visibly on edge.

"You too, Casey," Marcia says, leaning in closer to him.

"I'll get in the next one," Casey lies, pulling out her phone and pretending to be occupied.

 _Stupid_ , she fiercely thinks again.

They want to see the kangaroos next and then the red pandas so Dennis takes them to both. The air gets even chillier and the moon is burning high in the sky. With nothing left to see in the area they make u-turn down the way they've come. Dennis waits for Casey. 

"Not impressed by much, huh?" He asks, the first words he's said to her all night. He matches her snail's pace.

Casey shrugs. "Once you've seen animals like these out free in the wild the ones in cages kind of takes away the magic, I guess." 

"Okay. But you've been quiet all night," he says. "You okay?"

Asking if she was okay was like wining and dining and pampering the cow before hacking it into grade a5 Kobe beef. Casey laughs shortly at that, madly. "I'm fine," she says once she stops, smirking at his quizzical expression. "Thanks for asking," she says with surprising genuineness. 

"You get into a fight with your friends?"

"Oh, they're not...we're not exactly friends. I just got put in the same group."

"Then why did you come tonight?"

"What?" Casey asks. She'd heard him but the question catches her off guard.

"You're not interested in seeing the animals. Or sketching," he points to her jacket pocket, "like you were earlier. And those girls aren't your friends." He ticks off, eyes never leaving her. "So why'd you come?" It almost sounds like a an interrogation, the way he asks her. As if he's got her made out, and it disturbs him.

"Because..." She trails off unsurely, was herself put one foot in front of the other. "You offered."

"I did. But do you even wanna be here?"

"Do you want to take me back?" She deflects, finally looking up at him, holding her breath as she waits for his answer.

"No." He looks ahead at Marcia and Claire. "I want you to stay."

Casey feels her face grow hot. God, she's repulsive.

Claire turns to face them, walking backwards. She cups her hands on the side of her mouth and shouts, "hurry up lovebirds!" 

Casey narrows her eyes in disgust, flipping her off. Claire just laughs.

"Aye!" Dennis calls out. "You girls thirsty?" He jabs a thumb at the building over. The sign says it's a Watering Hole, otherwise known as a beer garden.

"Hell yes!" Claire shouts exuberantly. "Let's get this party started!"

Marcia whoops.

Dennis presses a hand on the small of Casey's back before walking off. The touch is brief but it makes her shiver.

Claire and Marcia choose a table in the middle, faces illuminated by phone screens, [music](https://youtu.be/O1OTWCd40bc) playing from one of their speakers.

Casey follows Dennis over to the bar. She folds her arms on the counter and watches him go behind it, opening the mini fridge. "Won't they notice anything gone?"

"Maybe, but they won't worry themselves too much about where it went. It's been busier than normal lately and the new server is a klutz." He sets down two six packs on the bar – Stella and Goose Island – the eleven ounce cans.

"Stella," Casey observes, rotating the white and red logo to face her. She swipes a line through the condensation. "Pretty strong stuff."

"You drink?" He asks, reaching under the counter to pull out a bottle of Pinot and four cups.

"Sometimes." She does whenever her uncle offers – or doesn't – it helps numb the pain of what usually comes next when she can't escape him. She's also had a few at parties, just for the buzz, enough to not want to flee. There's social drinking and there's survival drinking and Casey only gets drunk when she has to. 

Dennis snags a Stella from its plastic ring and opens it, handing it to her. She takes a sip, swipes a packet and beer nuts and Fritos, and goes to sit down with Claire and Marcia.

She slowly nurses the one and refuses the three fingers of wine when he offers as he sits between her and Marcia. Casey doesn't want to get plastered tonight. She opens another can when her half finished one becomes lukewarm and swears off any extra.

Claire and Marcia crack open seconds about half an hour later and another in half that time. _Big fucking surprise_ , Casey sarcastically thinks with a roll of her eyes. But they're only flirting on the edge of tipsy, laughing loudly and blithering on about topics that make even her blush.

"Okay, but what do you think the percentage is for guys who actually have nice looking penises?" Claire continues slurring, slamming her fist on the table. "And then they expect us to actually respond all excited to their unwanted, ugly ass dick pics."

"Pretty low, I imagine," Marcia replies, taking a sip of her beer. 

Claire sighs solemnly. "Unless they're in porn but even that's pretty rare."

Marcia snorts. "Yeah, but, those dicks are probably powdered and cgi'd to look even remotely pleasing. The rest just look like badly cooked sausages links."

Claire and Marcia burst out laughing.

"Can either of you enlighten us?" Claire directs to Dennis and Casey, the latter who ignores them, busy shading in her penguin sketch from earlier. "You ever send a dick pic before, Dennis?" She asks sweetly, bordering on condescending.

Dennis takes the neutral route, shrugging. His face turns an impressive shade of red. He stutters for a second, trying to make sense of the sounds coming out of his mouth. "Uh, no. None that I can remember."

"Boo! I don't believe that," Marcia says.

"Hey! Let's all take a picture to commema– commemo-" Claire rolls her tongue, face beet red while Marcia laughs at her blunder. "Blah– fuck it. Let's take a group photo!" Claire swivels around in her chair and extends her arm in the air, flipping her camera.

Casey awkwardly leans forward. "This isn't going online is it?"

"I'm not stupid." Claire takes the photo.

"What do you want to see tonight?" Dennis asks her once Claire and Marcia go back to their own little world.

"Nothing." She doesn't know if that's true or not, she's not used to being asked what she wants. She swallows down her uneasiness with a swig of beer.

"C'mon," he gently urges, leaning closer. He smells really good, like citrus and a spicy warmth. "You must wanna see something?" 

Casey shrugs, fiddles with the beer tab until it pops off and falls inside the can, rattling all the way down. She inhales, startled, her stomach tensing as his fingers skim over and up her sweater.

"What about the big cats?" He murmurs, tugging the sweater down and tapping a finger against the tiger on her shirt.

Face hot, she shrugs again, more jerkily. She holds her breath as his hand slides down her sweater and away, curling back around the beer he's barely sipped at, the movement so swift and casual it would seem innocent to anyone looking. He touches Marcia like that too, he squeezes her shoulder and other quick gestures, cradles her necklace in his big hands to ask where she'd gotten it.

His thigh brushes against hers and Casey hates how the sensation leaves goosebumps along her skin. It shouldn't. Dennis is invasive and big and...off in ways she can't figure out. And not because he keeps wiping the sweaty beer cans down, and the residual ketchup and barbecue sauce left on their table's bottles.

His touch stirs heady and confusing ups and downs of unrest and rapture within her, building her to a tension similar to the seconds before she drags a blade across her skin. It feels very private and taboo, just between them, but she knows it's all in her messed up head.

Casey licks her lips and nods, forcing herself to smile. "Okay. We can go there next?"

"Yeah."

"Shit," Marcia hisses and shoots up. A can of beer explodes on its side, gushing down the table. Marcia snatches it up and chunks it in the trash. It's all over the lower half of her sweater and her skirt.

"Don't panic. It's fine," Claire assures her, standing. "You're gonna have to ditch that skirt though," she wrinkles her nose. "Maybe the sweater too?"

"It's the only change of clothes I brought with me."

"You can buy something tomorrow morning. Maybe you can borrow Casey's jacket to cover up?" 

"It won't hide the smell," Marcia points out, groaning. "I am gonna be in so much trouble."

"I'll get you some clothes," Dennis says. "You can change before I take you back."

"Really?" Marcia's face lights up. "Thank you."

"We're gonna head to the ladies room to get her dried up."

They look expectantly at Casey.

With a sigh, she gets up and follows them.

"He's nicer than I thought," Marcia says when they're out of earshot.

"Yeah, but he's still weird." Claire opens the bathroom door. "Did you catch him just staring off into space now and then? He didn't blink for like a whole minute. I timed it on my phone when you were thirst scrolling through Josh's posts."

"Yes!" Marcia snaps her fingers. "And how he kept messing with the napkins and ketchup and shit? And that yellow towel he keeps taking out? What's that about?"

They laugh while Casey locks herself in the handicap stall. She paces back and forth, heart hammering. She puts a hand over her sweater where Dennis' touch still burns through.

What the hell was she still doing here? Putting herself in a situation that can get her in trouble in so many ways. Her uncle will hurt her badly if he finds out, it wouldn't be the first time she missed school for being 'sick.' He didn't used to hit her, only when she started getting older and his control began slipping. When his older, worn out body started slowly failing to hold his drink like before, and she'd learned how to ruin her own body to keep him at bay.

Casey pulls out her phone for nothing better to do as she teeters on an incoming breakdown. There's a few from her Instagram and Tumblr but it's the text from John that catches her attention, only the first few words appearing.

Casey's thumb hovers over it, knowing it will send her over the edge. Maybe it's the push she needs to go back out there, accept Dennis' perverted intentions without any guilt or shame. So she taps on John's message and it directs her to their logs.

 **Uncle John, 3:45 PM**  Have a good field trip Casey bear. Text me when u get there 

 **Uncle John, 5:40 PM** Guess you forgot to text me. Stay safe

 **Uncle John, 5:42 PM** Got a movie we can watch tomrw :)

 **Uncle John, 10:30 PM**  Missing u tonight baby girl xant wait to see u

Casey sucks in a sharp breath, chest aching. She squeezes her phone until her hand is trembling, overcome with suppressed rage and anguish, until it digs between the soft flesh of her thumb and index finger. She inhales a loud, shuddering breath even though all she wants to do is scream. Throw up. Lash out. 

And how he's trained her well and good over the years. How else can she have sat there and allowed herself to be felt up under the table and believes she wants more of that? But any touch is infinitely better and more welcomed than her uncle's, isn't it? Casey likes Dennis compared to any brain dead boy at her school, at least– or she thinks. He makes her nervous until it's hard to breathe. He is attractive and she likes his deep voice and the way he flusters and serious ways. His hands feel _new_ and good, even. He's different. So different in every way from her disgusting uncle.

It's the closest to normal she's probably ever going to feel for a long time.

"Casey, are you okay?" Marcia's voice says close to the stall.

"I'm fine," she calls back.

"She's such a downer," Claire poorly whispers.

"Maybe she's had too much to drink," Marcia whispers back.

Furiously swiping at her face. Casey makes herself calm. She tucks her phone in her pocket and steps out.

When they come back to the table Dennis is flipping through their sketchbooks. A cold shot of dread drops into her stomach as he flips through hers. "I'd say these are good but I don't know nothing about art."

He stares down at the drawing Casey did of him earlier, the lines of his face pulled down. He tilts it her way, vague amusement flashing across his face. "This how I look to you?"

Casey stares down the intimidating figure on the page. "It's my interpretation of you."

He cocks his head, chin touching his chest. "Your interpretation, huh?" He stares hard at it. As if it will reveal some sort of truth or weakness in either of them. And it does, her focus on his face and hands more careful and detailed than the rest of him.

He shuts it and hands it back to her, frowning.

Dennis takes them to a gate, next to it is a rusted blue sign with the words: **Private Employees Only** in chipped yellow block letters. The door is surrounded by drooping trees, the structure of it inclining tells Casey it leads underground.

They descend downstairs, cages half her size on either side, some of them empty while others containing excited monkeys, hooting and screeching and rattling their cages at the Intruders.

Casey only has eyes for the large glass box further down. A fully grown tiger lounges in the center, head resting overs his paws, tail swaying and ears perking up. The tiger blinks lazily at them, large flat tongue swiping over canines before rolling sideways, turning his back to them.

Marcia yawns.

"It's about time to call it a night," Dennis says.

"What time is it?" Claire mutters, checking her phone. "Jesus, almost three?" Her shoulders slump at the realization, finally feeling the fatigue of a sleepless night, her face flushed from the alcohol and hair windblown.

"We'll leave soon," he promises. "Have to make a stop first."

They head down a long dimly lit hall of naked, steaming pipes and wires, pass a row of lockers and corridors and closed doors. Casey peeps through one with a small square to see a table and fridge, they want the room adjacent. It's like a study lounge, with a couch and desk and bookshelf and table.

"Please," Dennis gestures to the couch. "Sit."

A shift of energy changes in the air as Claire and Marcia quiet down, slouching onto the couch, exhaustion and alcohol coarsing through them.

Casey sits on the far end away from them, pulse thumping loud in her ears. She knows it was time to pay dues. She looks around the makeshift lounge. It wasn't messy but it was full of various clashing things and clearly lived in. Cozy. "You stay here?"

"Yeah, figured it would be easier with my hours."

Casey frowns, the room's personality doesn't really match up to the man in front of her, or any one person.

"Let me go grab those clothes," he directs at Marcia. "You three wait here and relax." He heads into the kitchen across the narrow hallway. "You want anything to drink? Some water?"

Marcia opens her mouth to answer when Casey clamps a hand down on her forearm. Both girls look at her and she shakes her head. 

"Uh...no. I'm good, thanks," Marcia says.

Claire rolls her eyes at them. "I'm good too. So is Casey."

Dennis comes back several moments later carrying a box. He sets it on the table. "Got a change of clothes right here, we're never short on zoo merchandise."

What he fails to mention is the sleek silver camcorder on top of the folded clothing. He takes out three bottles of water and the camcorder, setting them beside the box with finality, like a stamp on their wordless contract. There's no going back now.

A long stretch of awkward silence hangs thick in the air as he powers the camcorder on. "You should change here," he continues on normally. "We wouldn't want to risk it when you go back."

Marcia braces her hands on her thighs, standing up. "Uh, yeah, of course." She smiles tightly. "Where's your bathroom?"

Dennis loudly exhales, blue eyes darting over to her. "About that..." He ambles over to them, slides his hands in his pockets. "Why don't you sit back down for now," he tells Marcia gently. "Go on."

Casey slowly brings her legs up on the couch, she wraps her arms over her knees. 

Marcia hesitates before reluctantly taking her place beside Claire again.

"What I did tonight," Dennis begins in a slow, heavily accented drawl. "It was very much against policy, and I need to know that what happened here in no way comes back to me."

"You have our word," Marcia says, checking in with Claire and Casey who nod in agreement.

He sucks his teeth noisily, blue eyes squinting. "I'm gonna need more than the word of three teenage girls."

Any sliver of niceties or camaraderie between the four quickly dries up and withers at those words.

Claire sighs and folds her arms. "Alright, then. We already saw this coming. No need to be subtle about it. Marcia and I will give you a nice little flash," she tugs on her sweater as if the emphasis was needed, "to seal the deal. That way both parties will be happy and no one will out the other."

Dennis' face twists up as if disrespected by her proposal, as if he's some lame, horny teenager who hasn't even passed first base. "No. No..." He runs a hand over his prickly shaven head. "That's not good enough."

Claire's smirk drops and so does the sweetness in her voice. "What." She stares dully at him. "I mean, it sounded pretty good to you earlier. That was the deal we–"

"You'll change," Dennis interrupts, voice firm and loud. "You change out of your clothes. Right here. Right now. All of you."

"Excuse me?" Claire scoffs.

Dennis holds her stare, any fumbling or stuttering he had before was gone. "I need you to take your clothes off." His tone is serious and hard, no nonsense. "You'll go one at a time."

Marcia looks over at Casey, eyes wide and round.

"You can't be serious, right?" Claire shrilly demands, glaring up at him. 

Dennis gives her a cold, unfazed look. "That's what I want. Now, I've been courteous with you three so far and you've all been well-behaved. Don't ruin that."

"And if we don't _want_ to give you a fucking strip tease?" Claire challenges, fists clenching on her lap. 

Dennis crosses his huge, muscular arms. They're wider than both of Casey's own arms put together. 

He doesn't say anything. The implied threat is clear enough.

Claire's body shakes as she anxiously bounces her leg, knocking it into Marcia's. "Y'know, what? Fine." She laughs humorlessly, throwing her hands in the air. "Let's get this over with." She squirms, bravado dying as he remains looming above them. "I'll um...I'll go first." 

"No." Dennis sets his heated gaze on Marcia and she has no choice but to acknowledge it. "She'll go first." 

Marcia's face falls and she clutches at Claire's hand.

Dennis bends down. "And you will hand over your phones," he says, digging between their legs where they've sunken onto the cushion. "We wouldn't want any interruptions."

Casey fumbles hers out of her jacket pocket and hands it over wordlessly. Claire shoots them an apologetic look when he turns his back, her lips pinched tightly together, face turning a deep crimson. Marcia looks like she's about to cry. Dennis fiddles with a small record player hidden in the corner and drops a vinyl. Jazz music swells, eliciting a crisp, poignant introduction to the rest of the night's mood.

Dennis powers their phones off and tosses them inside the box. He pulls out a chair from under the table and sits. "Come up here," he orders.

Marcia stands up on wobbling legs and shuffles over, stopping in front of him, head down. 

"You take off your heels first," he instructs in a low, rumbling voice. "Then those tights..." His tongue clicks the roof of his mouth. "Then your sweater, and then your skirt."

The first [track](https://youtu.be/9ckv6-yhnIY) begins and there's nothing but the somber, earnest croons of a woman and clothes shuffling. 

Casey keeps her eyes on the proceedings just barely, the tension in the room radiates a thick, stifling heat.

"Slower," Dennis orders. He sighs contently, long and drawn out, the noise lingers in the dizzying room. "You have a really nice body, Marcia." A beat. "Say thank you."

Marcia does, choking on her words.

"Remove your sweater now."

It's quiet for several beats longer. The song ends and another begins. 

"Why don't you turn around for me– and stand up straight. Head up. Keep your back to me while you take off your skirt."

Casey watches her skirt pool down to her feet. Marcia steps out of it and swipes it off to the side.

"Now turn back to your front." Dennis sighs again, except this time it sounds agitated. "What're slouchin' over for?" He groans, voice rising. "And move your _hands_."

Marcia sniffs wetly.

"You're not doing this right." Dennis huffs miserably. "It's not– that's not very attractive. I'm sure you know this already, Marcia."

Casey sees from her peripheral Claire coiling and uncoiling in distress.

When Dennis stands both girls' heads jerk up. He walks up to Marcia who flinches away when he goes to touch her. His face darkens and he snatches her upper arm, the other hand settling on her back, straightening her spine. 

"Hey!" Claire snaps, leaning forward as if she wants to lunge off the couch and rain her fists down on him. "You said a strip tease." Her voice shakes, with fury and fear. "Last time I checked there's no touching in strip teases."

Casey nudges Claire's leg with her foot, hoping she'd get the message to just _shut up_ before she sends him into a blinding rage.

The warning look alone he gives Claire turns her pale, she miserably slumps back into the couch with watery eyes.

"Just take your bra off," he demands, bleeding irritation now gushing.

"My bra?" Marcia replies shakily.

" _Yeah_."

"But..."

Casey keeps her gaze down as Marcia protests, her pleading dissolves into blubbering and hiccups the more he persists. Casey looks over at them briefly, catches Dennis dragging down one of her lacy black straps before she diverts her gaze. He tells Marcia to dance for him.

Claire and Marcia should've known better, Casey thinks, one request will transform into another and another until all of them will be left thoroughly violated. He'll do the same to her as well. Tears well in Casey's eyes at Marcia's full on sobbing now. The sound of fabric rips through her ears after she refuses the removal of her underwear. 

"Don't be upset. I'll make it quick."

Seeing enough, Claire shoves off the couch and bounds towards them. "Okay, stop. Stop it! What the hell is wrong with you!?" She cries out. "That's enough!"

A sharp slap rings through the air. Claire hits the floor with a thud. Marcia wails.

The sound abruptly cuts into silence.

"Keep dancing." Dennis speaks again when the song ends. "I honestly expected better from you" he grounds out, breathing harsh. "Go. **Go** sit down. You have all that body and you don't know what to do with it."

Marcia rushes back over to the couch, crying, a hand cradling her throat. Claire's getting to her knees and Marcia helps her up, they collapse next to Casey whose been curled up in the corner, white knuckling the chair's arm, trying to make herself small.

Dennis chucks a green shirt similar to Casey's sweater and a pair of gray joggers onto Marcia's lap. She hurriedly puts the joggers on first over her panties, the torn material barely clinging to her red, irritated hip. She doesn't risk getting up and grabbing her bra.

He snaps his fingers, gaining their attention. He's sitting back down, legs spread out and face flushed from arousal and rage. He points at Casey. "Alright, you. C'mere. Now."

Her heart falls. 

She opens her mouth, voice cracking. She isn't _ready_.

Dennis tilts his head, brows flashing and nostrils flaring in warning.

Claire saves her for the time being and stands up. "I'll go next." Her voice is hoarse, hateful. She moves in front of his chair. 

"Sit back down.  _You_ go when I say you will," he snaps and Claire jumps, his voice strained and cracking, a loose thread of his bodily control as he leans forward, rigid.

Still, Casey refuses to get up. 

"I'm going next," Claire persists. "I'll make it good for you," she bites out.

"Will you?" He mocks. Dennis sets his heated gaze on Casey. She looks down. He turns his frustration back on Claire. "Girls like you really piss me off, y'know, thinkin' they've got the whole world eating out of their palm," Dennis spits. "Take your sweater off."

Claire wordlessly rolls up her thick sweater before peeling it off and folding it. She isn't wearing a bra. Her shoulders rise up to her ears as she holds the sweater out to Dennis. He snatches it and adds it to his growing pile.

Dennis advanes on her and Claire recoils. When there's no more space to invade and she holds her ground he ducks his head forward, inches from hers. Claire can't hold her glare any longer, looking away.

"Your friends wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for you," he tells her. "You do know that, right?" He drops his hands on her shoulders and Claire sharply inhales.

Dennis splays his hands on Claire's lower back, forcing her closer to him. She makes a noise and jerks her head to the side to stare at the wall so none of them can see her face when his hands begin creeping lower. She grunts but is otherwise silent as he gropes her ass, squeezing, his rough and unforgiving ministrations forces her lower body against his. She can't help that but makes sure her naked chest makes as little contact against his as she can.

"You thought you could get away with taking advantage. Just like the others," Dennis explains, that thread on his control loosening further, until it's flimsy and wobbling with emotion. "And you'd have used your age to get away with being a little whore. Call it innocent flirting. Served no jail time because I'm the adult in this situation."

A choked sob slips from her lips, her body wracking with shudders. After several more seconds of molesting her Dennis grabs the zipper on the back of her skirt and rips it down. "But you're not a child, right? _Right?"_ He continues, delirious and not making any sense. "You knew exactly what you were doing, coming on to me all night– didn't you?"

Casey grips the edges of her seat, squirming as she watches the scene unfold, her breaths coming quick and short. She freezes, slowly coming to realization with a mixture of horror and shame that the crotch of her underwear is damp. 

Dennis kneels as he pulls Claire's skirt down, her ass jiggling at the motion, purple underwear right in his face. She has no choice but to brace a hand on his shoulder as she steps out of it. Casey doesn't miss his growing erection outlined in his pants.

Casey squeezes her thighs together, feeling wave and wave of disgust and self hatred with the way her body is reacting. Throat dry and chest heaving, her stomach churning out waves of nausea and terror...poisoned butterflies ride the motions, fluttering weakly in her stomach. She forces herself to count her breaths. To ignore his deep voice, his accusations.

"Raise your arms." Dennis has the zoo shirt bunched around his fingers, intending to dress her.

Claire obeys and he slips it over her before turning back to grab the gray joggers. She hurriedly steps in them and Dennis tugs them up, ignoring her violent shuddering. He jerks them up too high and fast, jostling her. Claire yelps in shock and wrenches out of his grip so hard she falls.

"You go sit by your crying friend," he says, breathing hard. "And make her be quiet before I do."

Claire pulls herself up, face contorting painfully, eyes red and dry tears staining her red cheeks. Jaw tight. 

"Now," he exhales slowly, takes off his fogged up glasses and wipes them with the yellow cloth from his pocket. He puts them back on and looks at Casey. "Get up." 

Casey slowly plants her boots on the ground, mind racing with half-brained ideas to turn this into her favor somehow. She knows she can't go up there in front of them. Not with her scars. And there's the matter that she's wet, her underwear snagging uncomfortably, sticky and hot, against sensitivel flesh.

"Wait!" Claire calls out, her head down and hands clasped, manicured nails digging hard into the skin. "I promised her she wouldn't have to do this. Haven't you seen enough?"

Dennis swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and stretches a leg out, the sole of his black combat boot scrapes over the floor. The movement puts his erection on open display. Marcia looks away in disgust. "I made no deal with you– or her."

A long stretch of silence waits them out. The last song goes through its final chorus, more loud and joyful than the last.

"Casey," Dennis barks and she stiffens, big brown doe eyes staring blankly at him. "Come. _Here_."

She opens her mouth and he doesn't want to hear whatever excuse is about to come out of it. Patience snapping, Dennis shoves out of the chair and reaches her in six, quick steps. Casey jumps back on the couch, heart hammering. 

She grips the arm but that doesn't deter him. He wraps his hand her tiny wrist, yanking her unsteadily to her feet and winds his arm around her waist.

"No! Wait!" Casey says breathlessly, pushing at his chest and digging her heels down as he hauls her near the table. "Not here," she begs. "Please? Can we go somewhere else? Somewhere more private. _Please_?"

Dennis halts, face inches from hers, his hot breath fanning across her cheeks and mouth. "Go where?" He narrows his eyes, skeptical. "Another room?" His erection rubs at her hip as she squirms. His fingers flex around the soft flesh of her hip.

Casey nods emphatically, holds his unmerciful stare even as it burns to her very core. "Please," she repeats again and again, the word like a prayer now. "I don't wanna do this...not in front of everyone."

 _"Casey, no,"_  Claire warns.

Except she already knows it's a terribly dangerous idea. But she can get through this without the additional shame that's sure to come. If he tears into her a fraction at what he'd came with for Marcia and Claire she wouldn't be able to look at herself later, as if it wasn't already difficult before.

"I'll do whatever you ask," Casey promises.

"You'll do whatever I ask _anyway_ ," he sneers, shaking her by the arm.

"Okay!" She shrieks, fingers clutching at his side, head swimming. "Okay," she repeats, feigning calm as her heart pounds. "But just...somewhere with just the two of us, okay? Dennis..."


	3. Chapter 3

Casey swallows the taste of metal thickening the column of her spasming throat, ceasing the bubbling whimper working itself up. Time ticks by in agonizing seconds, and then Dennis' grasp on her loosens in good faith. The hunger in his gaze softens to an hazy ache, twin blue flames doused by her rich brown, hissing out between his clenched teeth.

"Fine, then," he grounds out, as if giving an inch physically pains him. "We'll go to another room. But first–” He shoves her and she staggers over to the couch, hands flying out to catch herself on the arm where her fingers dig into the nice leather, nails numbing in her vice grip. Casey gets the memo, waits while he deals with Claire and Marcia.

Claire – whose face is beginning to swell where he'd slapped her – has been cowed into silence, now realizing the gravity and her place underfoot in this situation. There would be no coming out on top or recounts of bravery and composure, only shame and self-blame, Dennis' condemnation more cutting than the assault itself. It will eat away at her for years to come, her imagined responsibility in all of this; more importantly, it will keep her silent.

There is no fight when he hauls Claire up by the arm, Marcia stands with tired resignation now that the leader in their pack has been knocked down a peg. Tired, scared, aching. It appears to have sunken in that the faster they comply the sooner this nightmare will end. They've no idea of the spectres and whispers which will haunt them the rest of their lives.

Leading Claire and Marcia into the hall, Dennis puts them into a supply closet, tells them "it'll be over soon," and locks them inside.

Coming back in the lounge, he gathers the box – camcorder and all – and snakes an arm around Casey's waist as if he was her lover, the inappropriateness of the gesture lost on them both. He still smells of spice and cinnamon, she of vague apprehension and drilled discipline. 

"I'm sorry," Claire weeps muffled beyond the door, her cries like a dying siren in the middle of a roaring sea. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I'm so sorry, Casey...Marcia..."

Her confession withers as Dennis guides Casey up a small set of steps towards the end of the hall, down another longer and gloomier hall. The air is cold and dry, clings to the slabs of concrete encasing them, like a corpse sliding into a mortuary cabinet.

Light spills from rooms that flash by, and Casey encounters various memories of a broken man in blurred pieces; a lost child's puzzle left abandoned in the rain. A puzzle that's never had the right pieces in the first place, because they've all belonged in different boxes.

The sight of a child's room makes her shudder, stuffed animals and board games and toys. She flashes back to not that many years ago. To her sheep rocker, the pure white canopy bed, Jessie the Yodeling Cowgirl wallpaper, the various stuffed bears Uncle John got her every year. It was the exact image of her old bedroom when her dad was still alive. She'd tore it all down in a blinding rage, she was in her mid teens, yelling at John she wasn't going to be his stuffed animal to play with however he wants to anymore.

Room after room they pass is like whiplash, it makes her head spin. Crayon drawings, baskets of yarn, world globes, Japanese film posters, cowboy boots, a sombrero, a pink boa wrapped vanity mirror...

They turn inside one of these rooms. There's a bed shoved in a corner with a thickly padded yellow blanket with military corners. A brown recliner is in the other corner, a half finished quilt draped over it. Children's drawings are tacked to the wall much like the other rooms they'd pass but there's a lot less here. There's a lot of plants that don't require sunlight: two vibrant spiky green Dracaenas with red edges on either side of the bed, a Peace Lily with broad drooping leaves hangs on a shelf below the recliner, and a Bromeliad with red and yellow flowers sits on top an old, clunky nightstand alarm clock as a colorful 'good morning' in an otherwise dark, lonely place underground.

The space is carefully done up, thoughtfully neutral, the least chaotic of all the spaces they've past. She stands in the middle of the room, finds peace in Dennis' calm before the crackle and thunder that is his unpredictability. The door clicks shut and it truly feels as if it's just the two of them now.

He slides a hand over her back when he brushes past, her clothing sticks to damp skin at the pressure. All those layers were finally getting to her. Casey remains completely still while Dennis discards his jacket on a hook near the entrance. He tugs at his high buttoned collar, refuses to relent himself just as she does. Not until he gives the order.

"You have a lot of things...for someone who lives alone," Casey prompts with wide, guileful eyes. "Is this all yours?" She believes she has the beginnings of a profile of what and who she's dealing with now. The words he'd thrown at Claire earlier slots into place between everything that's transpired tonight, and every screwed up thing she's ever witnessed or been a part of. It plays back at her in startling familiar scenes, burns the edges of her retinas, fracturing doubled images until all that's left are their collective screams. 

He's damaged goods, undoubtedly, and she wants him to poison her.

"No one else lives here," is all he says, looking at her sharply. Cementing her theories.

"It's impressive," she nervously continues. "You setting this all up. It must be hard, living all on your own."

Dennis' jaw clenches. He turns away, setting the box of things on the nightstand. "Yeah? What would you know about it," he mumbles.

Casey stares down her wool socks and brown boots and glossy floorboards. She should be spiraling right now, spitting her bargain and gathering up bodily rage, not trying to make conversation. Instead, she keeps herself docile as his footsteps draw near. His breathing picks up, uneven.

He prowls into view. His shiny black boots. The erection sitting heavily in his pants. The black belt keeping it under wraps.

She should be disgusted by him, let her mind revolt against these all too familiar perversions as her body won't. Rejection and arousal mix, if they were even separate for someone like her to begin with.

But this is what she'd wanted, wasn't it? Hoping for the moment since figuring out he'd been following them. Had anticipated it all night. To be desired and used, broken in under a harsh hand, replacing over a decade of John's forced domestication and sickly sweet fantasies with one night of deviance. There's no turning back now. She'd played dead for this animal and he'd dragged her back in his den, there was no use fighting it now.

Her mind floods with him, every sense slamming on in his heady presence, signalling brightly that she wants him to touch her. Casey is cautiously and morbidly curious, so she keeps her demeanor malleable under his hard gaze.

"Remove your jacket."

Casey shrugs out of the plaid jacket, yanks the sleeves off with some difficulty due to the multiple layers. His eyes follow the movements of her stringy limbs. She messily bundles the jacket before tossing it on the armchair. His head jerks minutely to follow the motion, bottom left eye twitching, no doubt wishing to correct the unseemly sight. Sexual impulse wins out, however, and he stays rooted on the spot.

The Philly Zoo sweater comes off next. He _likes_  that, eyes lighting up. She's in his territory and it's just another reminder, one that he's forced onto Marcia and Claire as well. They'll walk out of here tomorrow morning wearing the clothes he'd provided, and everyone will see how they've been violated and staked claim to. **Property of**...

Dennis sighs through his nose, mouth twitching in poor patience at her gray hooded sweatshirt. It's a delicate procedure getting the zipper down given the trembling tips of her fingers failing to properly latch onto it. Finally, she takes a firm hold and tugs at it hard and fast, wincing at the sharp sound.

"Slower," he warns. He reaches forward, gently maneuvers her hair back to reveal the curve of her shoulders. She shivers.

"Sorry," she murmurs. She slowly glides the zipper down and it's just the sound of the tinny, prolonged  _snip_  and their excited breathing. The air quickly becomes stifling in the little space he allows between them, so close she tastes him on her tongue, the sting of scented chemicals and fruit.

The zipper gets caught on a loose thread mid-way. She tries tugging it back up then jerking it down but to no avail.

Dennis bats her hand away, he works on the zipper until the single worn thread slips away and teeth willingly open for him, allowing him to dip his fingers inside where they caress her abdomen much like they did in the beer garden. A kind of kiss. Sneaky and indecent. He doesn't ask her to finish the job, self control waning. He palms at her shoulders, snaking the sweatshirt down where it bunches at her elbows.

Dennis makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, heavy brows knitting derisively. He pulls the collar of her Goya tee taut, her neck snapping forward so his narrowing eyes can peer inside. She gasps, fingers clutching for purchase around his bent arm.

Scowling, he looks up at her from above the rim of his glasses. "Why're you wearing so many clothes..."

Casey holds back her snappish mimicry of his words, just to get a reaction. She chews the side of her tongue and focuses on the flowers behind him.

Lips pursing in annoyance, he lets her go and discards her sweatshirt with rest of her items. "Take off your shoes and socks. Set 'em by the chair." 

He backs up a few steps so she can until tj and toe them off at the heel. She stuffs her socks in her shoes and pushes them by the couch. There's uneasy niggling in her stomach as she's bent over, and she knows he's staring at her ass.

She comes face to face with Dennis once more, and with each layer stripped she grows more anxious, knees hollowing out. He cocks his head, chin touching his chest as he drops a hand to her hip, squeezing just on the edge of painful.

"Marcia had nice _curves_ ," he comments offhandedly, teeth lingering on his bottom lip, drawing out the 'v' salaciously. "Good for dancing. Claire, not as much. Her freckles made up for it though." His nose wrinkles. "I can tell you have somethin worth seeing, too... _underneath all these clothes."_

 _He has no idea,_ Casey thinks warily.

Dennis buries his fingers under her oversized tee and takes it off with little trouble. He stares down the form fitting undershirt and begins rolling it up, it will make it easier to get off.

Casey lifts her eyes up to the ceiling, a distressing sound thrums between her thinning lips, like an out of tune string. This was her last shirt before her scars were revealed. She steels herself for an onslaught of disgust. Vaguely, she wonder if she should warn him but he wouldn't believe her. She's so frightened her vision turns blurry, mind retreating in a dark, secret corner no one can find.

"Lift your arms."

She obeys. She is enveloped in heat and darkness, hair snagging painfully, cold air hits her naked skin and orange light burns through her closed eyelids.

All that is left is her mini green camisole which cuts off at the waist.

She wishes music was playing for her right now. His silence was unbearable. Casey can feel his eyes boring into her skin, a white canvas splattered in angry pink, she may as well have splayed her legs wide open and beg for it with how mortifying this feels.

As the silence drags on Casey wills herself to open her eyes. What she sees both alleviates and shakes her to the very core.

When his palm covers her scarred torso she feels as if she may buckle under the weight of it. His hand is searing. She is aware of every spasm and finger twitch against her most private place. A place her uncle hasn't deliberately touched in years. Dennis smooths his hand back and forth across the expanse of her stomach – her battleground, her testimony – in a careful, reverential manner. As if he understands her design when he is a mixed bag of puzzles and she an unfinished chess board.

His touch feels...good. Really good. She knows it shouldn't. It melts her from the inside out. Her eyes well at the the alien sensations which rippling over the ridges and islands of thick tissue, like a rock skimming over water. She wouldn't mind, she thinks, if he removes his hand only to find out its imprint is still there.

Dennis takes a shuddering breath, the awe and adulation pervading from him makes her dizzy. "How'd you get these?" His voice is raw, hoarse.

Casey can't answer, stunned silent. She feels fragile and vulnerable, one wrong word will crumble her.

He doesn't ask again, instead the tightness in him finally snaps and he removes her camisole with a frantic energy. She assists him by raising her arms again, calm and externally subdued, without a second thought. Inside, she's a violent swirl of confusing emotions and the eye of the storm seems endless. Her hair falls around her, tousled and feral.

He cups her shoulders, a small, yearning groan vibrates through him, the sound of vindication. He thumbs at the raised flesh she's carved below each clavicle. Explores all of her anger and pain, for each time she'd fought back against her abuser, he runs a hand over each memory as if it will be transferred to him. 

Dennis laughs breathlessly, joyously, blue watery eyes rising over every curve and falling into every dip. His hands travel to her breasts. Her nipples harden between his calloused fingers, the touch gentler than she'd anticipated from him. So gentle she can cry. He forces her back until she hits the wall. She arches, his palms slip down her breasts to her rib cage.

Dennis presses flush against her, his shirt creating delicious friction against her bare skin, her breath hitching. He wraps his arms around her and leans forward to nuzzle into her hair. Sways them side to side. His fingers play with the elastic band of her panties. He groans. "You're perfect."

Her mind takes her back to all of the times someone has called her pretty, or expressed any interest in her; mind or body. Back to the day she'd gotten flowers sent to her at school on Valentine's day, discreetly dumping it before she would arrive home to her uncle. She's not perfect or pretty and she deserves to be used, to be taken and made new in image and purpose for someone else. To be pounded and flattened and molded under the hands of him besides her daily tormentor. She wants to throw it in John's face later, laugh until her throat tears, blood curdling and chest splintering apart. She wants the control of giving up control. She wants everything to  _hurt._

Dennis is shushing her. She realizes her hyperventilating has broken into low sobs, she tries to be quiet about it so he won't get angry. John always gets angry when she cries, it breaks his fantasy. "Be still for me now."

"Please..." Casey quietly begs. She doesn't know what she's asking for.

He palms and fondles her breasts again, fingertips brushing over her scars, his other hand gripped her hip. Casey's whole body shivers with desperate want. When Dennis shows no signs of stopping she keens in relief, her eyes fluttering shut of their own will, skull thudding against the wall. Should it feel like this?

With nimble fingers, he pops the button of her jeans and tugs them down by the hem. Casey has to hold the band of her blue boy shorts up as he rips her jeans down, he certainly wasn't planning to save her dignity. They hit the floor with a muffled sound. Casey clasps her hands in front of her, hoping to hide arousal. But there was no hiding the scent, the wetness. 

Dennis must have already known, he breaks apart her joined fingers and bats her hands away. He lets out a guttural groan that rattles her teeth.

"You've been enjoying this, haven't you? This whole time," He accuses. It would sound cruel if not for the softness in his eyes.

Nevertheless, Casey flushes in humiliation.

"You have," he whispers, jaw slacking in amazement. "You're full of surprises, I admit. But you've made a real mess of yourself here. Now we have to take off your panties."

Dennis hoists her off the ground, arms locked around her torso, and takes her across the room. Bending at the waist, he sets Casey down onto the bed, leaving her half sprawled on her side with a grunt, her legs dangling off the wobbling mattress.

"I know exactly what you want," he breathes hotly in the shell of her ear.

A drawer slides open and things are being moved around, taken out. Casey crawls further up the mattress on her stomach, heart pounding, limbs shaking. Her mind runs with a million ideas of what he could mean. This was _not_ how she'd seen this night going at all, no more than him getting handsy and a rough, reckless fuck in the dark. Now he has some kind of fixation on her or whatever. It was too much and too fast for her to grasp around. He's not what she'd thought at all, he's far more unhinged.

Soft crying fills the room. Static. A muffled, echoing thud. 

"Take off your blouse."

Casey frowns, confused for a second. Someone sniffles. She realizes the camcorder is playing.

Goosebumps spread across her skin, bile burns in her throat. _Fuck_. How many times has he done this?

Something cool and rubbery lands on her hip and she's being flipped onto her back. Dennis is wearing a yellow latex glove, sleeves rolled up to his forearm. He snaps the other glove on with such casualness while he hovers over her. She trembles naked, save her panties, and shrinks back into the puffy, soft blanket.

The young woman's sobs on the video become more hysteric, fabric tears. Another girl's whimpers mix in with the cries in a cacophony of dread.

"We won't be much longer, I promise." He checks the watch on his wrist before kneeling on the bed. He straddles her thighs and his heavy weight anchors her like the weighted blanket probably does him at night. The gravity of what she's about to do – or rather, what she will allow him to do, finally hits her. 

"Wait," Casey blurts out, swallowing. "I don't want to listen to this."

"It's okay," he whispers, running his hands over her throat, the pads of his fingers digs into her erratic pulse momentarily. "I see you," he says, mouth turning up at the corners in a hopeful smile. "I see you want this as much as I do. You need this."

Casey doesn't know what she wants, she's made some pretty shitty choices but this one tops them all. She cranes her neck up to fit it into his hand better, makes the ebb of shame lessen. Her pulse quickens.

Dennis lets her go and undoes his belt, the sound of his zipper makes her stomach clench. He sighs in relief as he tugs his pants low enough to ease the pressure on his cock, its outline in his gray boxers makes Casey turn her face. She sees him struggling with some redhead on camera, her shirt pushed up to her chest, hands clenching around her breast.

She looks up at the ceiling, chin wobbling. 

"Don't feel bad for her. She doesn't deserve your tears." He pulls her panties down to her knees. Casey's breathing is loud and ragged. "She and her friend assaulted me first. Now they won't hurt anyone ever again."

He picks up something encased in plastic, the sound of crumpling and tearing fills her ears. "I'm sorry," he says over her panicked puffs of breaths. "I don't have any condoms or your standard sex toys so we'll have to make do." Whatever is in his hand clicks on and a low buzz fills the room, the sound notches up with another click. He goes back and forth as if he's testing it out before silencing it. "Must be careful not to make a terrible mess."

Casey begins thrashing under him, the muscles in his thighs clench her sides and she gasps in discomfort, stopping. "What is that?" She can't bare to look. "What are you doing?"

Dennis knees her thighs apart and lowers on top of her, pinning his broad chest against her bare one. He slots a leg between hers and wriggles a hand down their joined bodies. Gloved fingers graze her sensitive mound.

Casey's strangled moan gets drowned out with his own. He inspects the pad of his fingers, rubs the slick together and let's out a curse. Taking the glove off, he leans over her and she hears it thunk into something metal. He settles back over her, new glove in place.

One of the girls on camera makes a choking sound, soon drowned out as Dennis berates her. Calls her filthy. Disgusting. A whore.

He thrusts jerkily against Casey's hip, the coarse texture of his boxers contrasts with the cold bite of the buckle and pant zipper scratching up and down her thigh. She feels herself getting wetter.

"I should've known there was something different about you," Dennis grunts, rolls his hips in short, rough movements, as if he can't help himself. "You're not like Claire and Marcia at all. You're special. Broken."

A smooth, plastic object taps against her clit, he circles it using the barest of pressure. Casey rolls her hips against it, up and down. Heat scorches her insides, spreads across her body.

And then he clicks it on.

Her hips jerk as the device buzzes to life, spreading countless little sparks of pleasure through her.

Casey thrashes underneath him and Dennis bears his weight down more. He alternates between sliding the purring rectangular device up and down the length of her repeatedly, circles it against her clit. Her grunts and puffs of protests soon turn into involuntary little mewls. 

Covering the crook of her elbow across her lower face she can't suppress another drawn out moan from her, pretense cracking. She can't ignore the pleas from the video, his voice. Her face burns at the sounds, just audible enough over the low hum of the device.

Dennis wrenches her arm away from her face and pulls it between them, trapping her. His heart patters against hers, pounding in time with the slow roll of his hips.

He changes up the angle and pressure of the device whenever she's silent too long, pays attention to every little detail of her body. Her thighs tremble.

"Stay still. You're close, aren't you?" Dennis murmurs, digs his elbow into the soft flesh of her arm and she cries out. He amps the vibration up a notch and she keens between bitten lips. "You should watch the video. Watch them suffer, I know you like it."

"No!" Casey wails, kicks her legs in futile. She can't come like this. She can't.

The sensation of pleasure-pain fills her until it has no place to go, its wetness slicking her thighs. Her breaths become shorter and quicker, higher in pitch. Casey presses her face against his shoulder to stop from moaning when he simply rests the vibrator over her, leaving her no choice but to roll her hips.

"I tried to fight it once, too, my darker urges." His free hand paws the side of her upper body, the rubber material bunching and pinching her. "Don't resist it, it's just you and me here," he pants on her cheek. "And don't worry, I'll keep yours secret if you keep mine."

Casey's orgasm hits her, her walls flutter, clenching around nothing. She shakes with the aftershocks, squirms as she feels her arousal trickling out of her. Tickles. The video has stopped playing. Dennis pulls her underwear off and discards them. Now that her body is too weak to struggle, her mind will come next.

"That's it," he murmurs encouragingly. He pulls the device away, it looks like a razor, sans metal teeth. She shudders. "Give me one more."

"Wait." Casey sounds wrecked. She's exhausted and aching, sated, her limbs heavy and soft. His throbbing erection continues grinding minutely against her limp body. 

"Just one more." It's not a request. He pushes something inside her. It's small and firm and has tiny bumbs all around it. "Just do what I say."

She waits for the strangeness to pass, wriggles to accommodate it, wincing. He inches it in deeper and her body relaxes, brow knitting, the bony edge of his thumb brushes her clit. She's never felt pleasure like this before.

He fucks her slowly with it, smiles when she moans absentmindedly and runs a hand over her stomach. His other arm nudges under body, his hand splaying over her mid-back. She's burning up, every inch of her skin tender and being rubbed up against.

Casey soon learns this, too, vibrates.

Her head lolls around his arm, lips parting, brushing along his jawline. She spreads her legs, inviting the device deeper in her twitching walls. She moans, loud, and it dissolves into tiny, keening sobs. She burrows closer to him, making needy sounds on his shoulder. The new angle hits a spot in her that makes white hot stars dance in her vision. Casey digs her fingers in his hip.

Dennis curses, lifting his hips to tug down his boxers and free his erection. She sees why as precum dribbles from the tip and lands on her thigh. He swipes it up, pushes it between her lips.

"Lick it off." 

She does. He removes his hand and takes her hand off his hip, guides them to his hot, throbbing cock. She wraps her fingers around him.

"Oh, fuck," Dennis inhales and drops his prickly shaven head between her breasts, his voice quivering with desperation. He sags heavily on top of her, snapping his hips forward, pushing her up the mattress as he thrusts into her hand again. She watches, mesmerized, as the splotchy red on his concentrated face blooms down his chest. A broken grunt escapes from his clenched teeth, his features contorted. "Casey..." 

She shivers at the sound of her name coming from his lips, no longer filled with disdain, and not sweetly like John's, but warning and possessive.

He rubs a hand on her arm as she jerks him off, more precum dribbles down. He pumps the device in her again. The sound of skin against skin turns her on more.

She comes again, her body reactly weakly but the feeling is just as – if not more – intense the second time around. Sensitive and swollen and wet.

"Did you come?" He whispers.

Casey hums, he cuts the vibrator off and thrusts into her hand. He moans, unashamed, breathing growing more erratic with each hurried pump. She relishes his tremors and muscles contracting, working on top of her.

He comes. Hot spurts that oozes between her fingers and drips down to her marred abdomen. He stares down at the site, hovers a trembling hand inches from her come covered scars, transfixed.

Her mouth finds his cheek she turns to look him in the eyes, a soft, accidental caress that steals her breath. Tempted, she leans up, sucking his bottom lip between her mouth, tongue sliding over the soft swell of salty flesh. Steals her first kiss.

Dennis pulls away, so far away his boots plant on the floor. His eyes wide, brows screwed and mouth slightly agape. His gaze dances over the room wordlessly, flushed chest rising and falling unevenly. He tucks himself back in and buckles his belt. Going over to the nightstand, he chucks a box of tissues into her lap, refuses to look at her. "Clean yourself up so we can go." He makes a quick escape, slamming the door behind him pointedly. Casey flinches.

Grabbing the box, she sets to work and ignores the nauseousness that often hits full force after an orgasm. In. Out. In. Out. She breathes. Casey gets off the bed and slides to her knees, clutches at the small silver trash can, dry heaving until it passes. Spotting the folded clothing on the nightstand above her, she weakly puts them on.

Casey's head shoots up at the sound near the door. A woman.

Did he have others here? Captives?

"You've had them for long enough, don't you think?" The woman speaks in a clipped, British accent.

"I'm almost done here," Dennis replies.

"Your behavior is getting a tad risky tonight."

"I've got it handled."

The woman sighs. "Did you give them the bottled water yet?" 

"No. After I'm finished here."

"Good." She pauses. "One more thing before I let you go, Dennis. That girl you have in there–"

"I  _want_  her."

"Do not interrupt me again," the woman reprimands in a harsh whisper. He apologizes. "You've had your fill and it's best if you take them now. All of them. Too many eyes were around tonight as it is. Am I wrong?"

"No."

When Dennis comes back in a moment later he's more put together. 

"Who was that woman?" Casey asks, body thrumming in apprehension.

He checks his watch with a sigh. "I have to take you back.

Dennis picks up the water bottle he'd put on the stand, she knows it's laced with something. He frowns at her, turning it over in his hands.

Setting the bottle back down, he grabs her Philly Zoo sweater instead and shoves it over her head. "Let's go. Hurry up." He grasps her wrist and pulls her out of the room.

Back down the hall they go, her footsteps feeling lighter the closer they get to the closet, as if she's floating on air. 

"Drink this," he orders Marcia when he opens the door. He twists the cap off and she drinks it so fast some of it escapes, leaking down her chin. "Drink it all– you too." He extends the other bottle to Claire.

Claire gratefully takes it off his hands and chugs it down between cracked, dry lips.

"Can we leave now?" Marcia croaks.

The sky is pitch black, they somehow find their way back to the field. Dennis opens the gate, Claire and Marcia stumble in, they can barely keep their eyes open or tell left from right. Whatever was in the water is working. Casey wonders why she was spared, she'll find out soon enough.

Casey glances over her shoulder, but he's already gone.

 

* * *

 

The next couple hours pass by too quickly.  Casey remembers blacking out, darkness, the chatter of her classmates wakes her in what seems minutes later.

She crawls out of the empty tent into the clear blue sky, her body still buzzing from last night's events. Students are in line to the bathroom, others yawning, or playing around.

"Do you remember what happened last night?" Claire's voice is startlingly close. She's crouching beside her, eyes wide and desperate. Casey rises and so does she.

Frowning, Casey looks between the two girls. Does she remember? How could she not. "What do you mean?" She carefully asks.

Sagging, Claire walks over to Marcia whose leaning against the tree. "Everything is a spotty blur. I remember us sneaking out with Dennis and getting drunk..." She averts her eyes, wraps her arms around herself. "I remember taking off my clothes," she says, embarrassed. "And then I wake up this morning like this." Her eyes sweep over the shirt and joggers. "Then I saw the videos and pictures we took."

Marcia shudders, nibbles on a manicured nail. "He took advantage of us. I know it. I knew we should've just minded our own business last night."

"We _cannot_ tell anyone about this," Claire firmly says.

Marcia looks uncertain at first but then she nods. "I don't want to get in trouble, you guys."

Claire's cheek is still swollen and red and Casey idly wonders if she remembers the slap that had caused it, or if her guilt has pushed the memory down. Her blonde hair is greasy and finger combed, maybe she'd been pulling at it. Marcia doesn't look any better, the collar of her shirt is stretched which must have been from twisting and turning all night, her eyes are bloodshot and the skin around them puffy and dark.

Meanwhile, Casey is the best she's ever felt. Memory fully intact. She can still feel Dennis' hands on her, the euphoria from both times she'd orgasmed. Guilt knots in her chest.

"We all have to come to an agreement not to mention this," Claire continues, wringing her shirt, disgust crosses her face and her arms fall back to her sides. "Delete any photos and videos from last night. If my dad should see them...he would never look at me the same. And no one at school will either."

" _Jesus_ ," Marcia whispers, surprised. "Are you sure? Maybe we can use them, y'know? To piece together what happened."

"No," Claire comes closes to shouting. "Just get rid of them." Her eyes dart to Casey's. "Not a word, understood?"

"I hear you fine," Casey mumbles, sinks further into the background. She tells herself it was best if they can't recall everything from last night, even though it's a lie.

"What do we say about out clothes?" Marcia asks.

Claire chews on her bottom lip, " _shit_. Um..."

"Marcia spilled her soda everywhere," Casey explains, basing their lie on an actual incident earlier will make it easier. "She left it out when we were sleeping, we changed into the clothes we bought yesterday."

"Good." Claire nods. "Let's just go about our lives and pretend this shitshow never happened. Be thankful he didn't go farther than what he could have. I don't feel... _violated_. Do either of you."

"No," Marcia quietly answers.

Casey shakes her head.

Claire and Marcia share a hug and Casey drifts off away from her classmates. She deals with last night on her own. It's what she's best at.

 

* * *

 

When her Uncle John's red truck pulls up Casey looks back one last time at Claire and Marcia. They wave goodbye. She waves back. 

"Hey, Casey-Bear, those friends of yours?" John looks out the window, smiles warmly at the girls before driving off.

"No. They were just in my group."

"How was your field trip?"

"Okay."

"Just okay?"

"Mm-hm."

"I'm heading to the store," he says, eyeing her in the rearview. "You coming with me or you want me to drop you off at home?"

"Home," Casey leans her head against the window, watches the zoo blur by. "I'm really tired."

John helps Casey set her things by the door. Asks her if she wants anything from the store. He drags her into his arms in an awkward side hug, her face smushing against his huge chest. Casey's arms remain limp at her sides. She hopes he smells the cologne and sweat of another man on her skin, the thought gives her a rush. She smiles into his musty, sun baked sweater, pushes out of his hold and stands tall, with a cold fierceness inside she's never felt. Not even when running a blade across her skin over a dozen times. The knowledge that she'd given the last of whatever innocence she had over to someone of her own will, and that she enjoyed it, gives her a high. Gives her power.

Uncle John blinks at her, smiles back. It doesn't reach his eyes. 

Once he leaves she heads inside her bedroom. The four plain white walls feel jarring after her experience. Crawling into bed, she curls up on top of the blanket and falls asleep.

About an hour later, she wakes to her phone screen illuminating the dark room, followed by the obnoxiously loud ringtone.

Casey rolls over and grabs it before settling on her back, she opens the message with quick fingers and squints at the screen. She nearly drops it on her face.

 **Philly Zoo, 1:77 PM:**  Did you like your visit?

Casey shoots up, alarmed.

Then she remembers signing the check-in sheet yesterday evening which had asked for her name, email, and number. She'd written down all of her information, and it was normal to receive such texts asking for reviews. She sags against the headboard. It was still surreal and uneasy getting such a reminder in only a span of a few hours, she wonders if Claire and Marcia have gotten a text yet.

Rubbing at her burning, bleary eyes, her phone pings again as she goes to set it down. She sighs, planning on blocking the number.

The phone does fall out of her hand this time, right onto her lap. She blinks down at the display screen. Forgets how to breathe.

 **Philly Zoo, 1:78 PM:**  We miss you already, Casey.

Casey looks around the room as if an answer will produce itself. Dennis must have gotten her number from the clipboard somehow.

The light begins to dim a minute when it pings again, brightening her bedroom. 

 **Philly Zoo, 1:78 PM:**  Will you visit again?

Casey stares unblinkingly at the new message.

She gingerly picks up the phone and taps the message bar, the keyboard slides up.

Her thumbs hover over it.


End file.
